Alfie Owens and Miss Amy Pond
by Mirawritesoccasionally
Summary: Alfie Ownes just wants to escape from the stories of a little boy but Amy Pond keeps chasing him back. Soo Alfie has enough and Sherlock Holmes is born.  Sorry for my rubbish Summary dears


Little Alfie Owens grew up to an assortment of fairy tales, as most young children do. However, Alfie's fairy tales were of a different world. Of a man, a brilliant man, a mad man, who travelled the universe and saved countless people.

He was told stories of a man, whose age was endless, yet still his face was young. Tales of a man who roamed the many worlds and stars in a big blue box wearing his trade mark Bow-tie, with his young companion always on his shoulder. He was told of two stories many a time, of how his father met his mother thanks to this mysterious man, and how his father had saved the day with love. Alfie had always loved these stories so much.

He was told of a man of science, who could adapt fun into everything; and so, with his head wrapped around being a genius just as the brilliant man of his stories had been, he put his mind to becoming brilliant himself.

But soon enough the time came when he must grow up, and fairy tales were no use to a young man anymore. He filled his head with science and understanding, of things that he knew would be of use to him in the modern world, and no longer did fake tales of a madman in a blue box be interesting to him. He distanced himself away from people at school, and got into countless fights, when finally his parents had enough and sent him to a renowned psychiatrist; and Alfie _hated_ her.

**Chapter one- Meeting Miss Amy Pond**

Alfie kicked at the chair he was sat on. He hated being here, sitting, waiting for that dreadful woman to ask him to come in, to talk about idiotic things like: "Why don't you talk to people," because talking was boring - who needed to talk to people? Alfie sniffled in his chair, he was 14 damn it! He didn't need to be babied by some woman who didn't do anything other than smile and nod. Just as he was wiping his eyes on the edge of his tatty sleeve, a girl walked out of the room. Her arms were tightly folded across her chest and she wore a scowl upon her face.

"Stupid psychiatrist, who does she think she is? Of course he's real," she muttered under her breath, her voice giving off a strong Scottish burr. Alfie looked up at her; she was young, about his age actually and had bright ginger hair. She sat down sullenly next to him, her face scrunched up.

"Are you crying?" She demanded blatantly.

"No," Alfie scowled in reply, sniffling once more and turning his head away from her.

"Bet you were. How cowardly," she snorted and turned away from him as he stiffened in outrage.

"I am not cowardly, I just don't need to act like a barbarian to get places. I heard you in there, you bit that stupid woman," Alfie glowered at her, trying not to appreciate the fact that she had indeed bitten the psychiatrist. She laughed – a light tinkling laugh that didn't match her hard demeanour.

"She deserved it, she kept saying he wasn't real," she glared at the door to the psychiatrist's room.

Alfie shook his head, rolling his eyes. "That _who_ wasn't real," He said sceptically. "Imaginary friend? Last time I heard, they _weren't_ real."

The girl threw her head sideways to look at him, brown eyes angered, flaming like her hair. "He's not imaginary; He's the Doctor, my scraggily Doctor." She pouted her lips and turned away from him, "you wouldn't understand; he fixed the crack in my wall."

Alfie's eyes widened, he turned to stare at the girl. It had been ages since he'd heard the name. That damned name that followed him still. The name of a man who resolved fights with aliens in space, and travelled through time. A name that he knew he shouldn't care about, it was just a fairy tale after all. But still he found himself asking: "Did you say...Doctor?" His voice a hushed whisper.

The girl's eyes lit up. "Yeah, he's my Doctor. I found him in my back garden, he'd crashed and everything, and then- then he told me about the swimming pool." Alfie looked confused at her – she must be delusional, swimming pool? No wonder she was at a psychiatrist . . . Then again so was he. Her eyes grew distant, the walls in her mind put up again as she saw his disbelief.

"Who are you anyway? Asking stupid questions," she pursed her lips and looked at him, waiting for him to tell her.

"S'none of your business who I am," Alfie replied, scowling back.

"It's rude of you to not tell, you were talking to me first," she said, nodding knowingly.

"Me? You were the one who started talking!" Alfie retorted.

The girl ignored his last statement and turned to him again, "I'm Amy by the way, Amy Pond. There, now you know my name you have to tell me yours!" She looked up in triumph and saw Alfie glare back.

"That's stupid, I shouldn't be talking to you anyway," he replied. Brushing down his worn out, black jacket, he stood up. "And I'm leaving now, goodbye," And Alfie walked out, leaving Amy behind in her chair, face pulled into a frown. She re-folded her arms across her chest and scowled.

"Stupid boy," she said.

Two weeks later Alfie was sent to a new psychiatrist. He was told that insulting someone about their 'appalling taste in perfume and in men' was not the way to greet someone, no matter how much you dislike them. So here he was again, not short from his 15th birthday, sat in another chair, in another waiting room, waiting for some person to try and 'understand him.' Alfie didn't think there was anything they needed to understand – he was fine, he just didn't like people. People were boring and nothing interesting ever happened.

He was contemplating running, when a flow of ginger strolled in next to him in the waiting room, hands in her pockets. She was certainly taller than she was the last time Alfie had seen her, but it seemed her temper was still just as short. Alfie sighed, rubbing his brow with two fingers, "oh God, what did I do to get stuck with you again," Alfie said.

Amy laughed, a hard sarcastic laugh, and rolled her eyes at him. "Yeah, please tell me why. Did you get moved too? That last lady was absolutely nuts," Amy smirked at Alfie.

Alfie glowered back. "Well, Amy, still talking about your imaginary Doctor?" Alfie scoffed, Amy's face turned a light shade of pink as she glared back.

"He's not imaginary, he's real and he'll come back for me. He promised." Alfie laughed – something that didn't happen often, but the chance of infuriating this girl was too good to pass.

"Oh I'm sure. You sound like my father he always used to go on about stupid imaginary people who saved worlds. You see _he_ wasn't real, and neither is your Doctor."

Amy's eyes widened, "Oh wow, do you think your father knew him?" she asked.

Alfie scoffed again. "I told you, he isn't real."

Suddenly he received a blow to the back of the head. "Ow!" He cringed, holding the back of his head. "What did you do that for!" He demanded.

She stuck her tongue out. "He is real, damn it," she said defensively.

Alfie scowled, "yeah fine, whatever." He rubbed the back of his head, patting down the black curls that was his hair and sniffed, disgruntled at the roguish girl next to him.

"And you still need to tell me your name, or I'll start calling you something stupid." She folded her arms again, leaning back in her chair.

Alfie pulled a face. "What if I don't want to tell you my name? Huh?" He said, folding his arms and mimicking her, leaning back in his own chair.

She huffed. "Fine I'll have to make up a name for you." She ticked off fingers on her hand as she blurted names out, "Jammy, Harold, Sherly-ohh!" She threw her hands up, "Sherly! That's girly and stupid, I'll call you Sherly from now on!" she punched the air in what she thought was victory as Alfie's jaw dropped slightly, completely outraged.

"Sherly! What kind of name is that? It's not even a name!" Alfie folded his legs up on the chair. Amy thought hard for a second.

"It's short for Sherlock," she said proudly, her eyes glistening. "And that is a real name because I said so," she smirked at him and Alfie felt himself get infuriated again.

"Sherlock is a ridicu-" He felt a vibrating in his pocket, followed by a large chime. He reached for his phone and clicked the answer button. Amy arched an eyebrow as he walked off, chattering loudly down the phone to what must have been his parents.

"Mother, you know I prefer it when you text, it's easier." Amy rolled her eyes again as he walked off. Alfie didn't know when he'd see Amy again, even though he'd never admit he'd want to see her again; people were boring, he didn't need them.

But then again, Amy was nothing like most people.

**Chapter 2- And then meeting her again.**

Four years later the man who was once Alfie was no longer. He'd changed; he'd grown up. He no longer answered to Alfie – no one called him that, no one even knew who Alfie was. He wasn't this young man here. He had his name legally changed; he'd try to convince himself that he'd spent a long time thinking over what his name should now be, but the truth was he knew what his name was going to be all along. Alfie Owens was no longer there.

A smart, very smart, young man, unfolding his wings and aspiring to be a genius was now in his place. A young man, called Sherlock. Admittedly he'd had a hard time trying to think of a last name to fit with the unusual name of Sherlock, and had finally settled on Holmes, which he found fitting.

So now, at the age of 19, swanning his way down a London high street, thinking himself to be above all the people he passed (which, of course, by some rights he was) went Sherlock Holmes, new kid on the block and thirsting for something interesting to happen, something to get him somewhere. His eyes scanned each corner of the street, plucking at information circles, reading the life that flowed down the narrow alley ways and rampant roads; he was unaware of anything and yet aware of everything in his deductions, until a shout caught his attention.

"Oi, Sherly!" Was the call he heard, and his back grew rigid. He stopped stiff and turned, his coat flowing around him in an arc, to face the bright faced girl behind him, hair still that vibrant ginger, face glowing with recognition as she realised she had got the right guy.

"I knew it was you!" She clapped her small dainty hands together and grinned at him, to which he did not return the gesture. "What, not gonna say hello to an old friend Sherly?" She asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow at him.

"No, I don't think I will" Sherlock replied, turning and walking steadily away from her. She paused for a second, stunned at his rudeness before she tore after him.

"Hey!" She said, catching up and trying hard to match her stride with his long legs. "That's very rude of you, you know." She fixed down her jacket before starting again. "You could have at least said hello, I mean it's nice I even remember you... You do remember me right?" Her eyes widened as she waited for him to reply.

"Yes, I remember you Amy," Sherlock replied. He checked at the watch on his wrist, "but I have no wishes to talk to you ever again. Do you know how long I had that bruise on the back of my head for?" He scowled as her tinkering laugh hit his ears.

"Oh, so you're upset for a bump on the head four years ago?" She laughed again.

"No." Sherlock's mouth twisted into a grimace. "I'd just prefer to not have to hear about fairy tales of men in blue boxes."

Amy frowned for a second. "Blue boxes?" She paused, ". . . Oh, do you mean the Doctor? Oh he was nothing but a little child's imaginary friend," She laughed again, at her childish naivety. "But I'm sure I never told you anything about his blue box." She frowned at him again, Sherlock stuttered for a second, his pace tumbling out of time and he stumbled forwards a bit.

"Oh..You didn't? I'm sure you must have done," he said, before stopping sharply. "Well, I suppose if you want to talk we may as well go and have some coffee or something? Is that the polite thing to do with . . . people?" He said, his nose wrinkling at the word people, as if they were something contagious.

Amy looked at him, wondering if he was being serious about that, before nodding slowly. "Coffee's good . . ." She replied.


End file.
